A Day in the Life
by ArieSemir
Summary: Maybe just PG...I'm no good at ratings. Let's see, a mere ficlet with a bit of TyrBeka luuurvin... If you're anti that couple, you may not want to read. It's short and fun...in a strange little way.


Author's Note: Um...my Andromeda fic, Unwilling is...no more. Sorry all! But it wasn't going anywhere, and it was annoying me, refusing to tell me what to do *L* I know, I know, I've just broke everyone's heart. Oh well. Huh...just noticed I seem to be fond of "A Day..." titles. Probably cos I write itty-bitty ficlets most of the time. Makes sense, eh?  
  
This is as close to mindless fluff as I can bring myself, (some will argue that is, and I really couldn't disagree) so if you're anti-Tyr/Beka luuurvin', you will likely not enjoy this in the least. Let's see...possible spoilers for epsidoes up to the Belly of the Beast, though I don't think there are any in here. And it's BEFORE the episode Immaculate Perception. From what I've seen of the trailer...never mind. I'm so excited!!  
  
Review! Review! For the love of all this is good and holy, review!  
  
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The Drago-Kazov aggression was intensifying. Of course, the combined Sabra- Jaguar fleet helped immensely, but if one side did not triumph soon, this might degenerate into a drawn-out war of attrition. Tyr knew better than almost anyone that Nietzscheans would not necessarily fight to their own deaths, but neither would they take prisoners, unless they were unusually important ones. In that case, they would be hostages. To prevent this worse than useless loss of millions of lives, Andromeda had proposed a daring, even brilliant he'd been forced to admit, raid that could drastically cripple the enemy Pride's fleet. As much as Dylan had changed over the past couple of yeras, he still wasn't ready to order any of his crew on what would very likely boil down to no more than a kamikaze mission.  
  
  
  
Beka had volunteered and even insisted on completing this mission, and now she was standing outside the hangar where the ship's slipfighters were stored. Tyr couldn't help but feeling that she was leaving to almost certainly kill herself fighting his demons. And that foolish sentiment, he told himself severly, was why he found himself right here beside her, waiting for Harper to finish adding shielding and installing more deadly weapons to two of the tiny fighters. Nietzscheans weren't exactly well- known for their willingness to die on suicide missions, but they would, if doing so ensured the survival of their genetic line or proved its worthiness. Tyr's only genetic relations, and distant ones they were, were the Volsungs, but he wasn't doing this for them. If he struck a blow to the Drago-Kazov, eliminating potentially hundreds from the gene pool, he would succeed where some of those very Dragans had failed, leaving him and, he was sure, a few others to survive, leaving the Kodiak still alive, though now hopelessly fragmented. It was cold comfort, but he would finally prove his unarguable superiority to the Pride that had slaughtered his own, even if there was no one to whom it would matter.  
  
  
  
Tyr shook himself. He could survive, of course, and it was even more possible with another to aid him. His eyes wandered to the First Officer, looking much more at peace that he felt, and he experienced a wave of admiration for this woman wash over him. Analyzing the situation logically, he had the better chance of survival, yet at a glance, she appeared the one who more likely would. Not because she was the better pilot (which Tyr could freely concede she was) or because she was better prepared (which she wasn't-neither of them was, really), but simply because she was Beka Valentie, she would make it, and that was that. Like another law of the universe. He found himself wondering if Trance had been the one to volunteere, whether he would have done so as readily. Also not a productive line of thought.  
  
  
  
She may well die today, killing your monsters, Tyr Anasazi. He could not shake the thought; it pounded against his skull with a peculiar persistence. Fine, he replied to the voice, what would you have me do? The voice whispered, The least you could do, as well as the greatest gift you could give her. Inwardly, Tyr chuckled. Trust a Nietzschean to be cryptic in his own thoughts.  
  
  
  
Knowledge was what the voice meant. One of the few constants that no one could take from her and would be the simplest for him to give.  
  
  
  
"All right, guys, I'm done." The hangar doors slid open. The tousle- haired engineer emerged. "Good luck." He seemed to want to say more, but apparently he changed his mind. "Good luck." He walked quickly past them.  
  
  
  
Beka looked up at Tyr, blue eyes unreadable. "See you in a couple days. Same place, same time?" Even a time like this, she laughed at the universe and its constant threat of death.  
  
  
  
He lifted a hand to her short, blonde hair and gently held her face. Her eyes gazed at him, full of inquiry, but she made no move to pull away. The greatest gift... After he'd memorized those beautiful and vivacious features, he tipped her head up and he lowered his and pressed his lips to hers. Softly at first, then with an increasing fervor, she kissed him back, and he responded. He could feel her slender, strong body against his and her hand through his dark locks and he felt himself drowing in her: the life she exuded, her passion, her essence...  
  
  
  
...and his eyes flew open, only to be met with the shadowy, familiar shapes of his quarters. Andromeda's hologram appeared, blinding him for half a second. "Tyr, are you all right?" She sounded genuinely concerned. "Your adrenaline levels just skyrocketed all of a sudden." She examined him closely.  
  
  
  
"Do you monitor all you crew while they sleep or just the resident Nietzschean?" Tyr was annoyed, for it seemed that she'd been deliberately spying on him.  
  
  
  
"I monitor all of them." She appeared slightly affronted by his accusation. "It's usually Harper who wakes up because of nightmares, but I watch all of you."  
  
  
  
It was useless, as well as pointless, to become angry at this perfectly reasonable action. "I don't have the emotional delicacy of the little professor." He studied his hands. "And it was not a nightmare," he said finally. It wasn't really. Even the fact that it had been a...passionate dream involving Beka didn't bother him much; his subconscious was bound to fantasize about beautiful women. What disturbed was the rightness he'd experienced and the part of the him that still felt right, recalling the taste of her on his lips. What disturbed him, he decided, was that truly, it did not disturb him in the least.  
  
  
  
Andromeda gave him a long, clear look. "Something that most Nietzscheans seem to forget is that because of your constant genetic improvement and selective breeding, the genetic reincarnation of Drago Museveni would necessarily have to have some human in him." With that, she disappeared, leaving Tyr with his thoughts, his dreams, and an ever-so-faint taste on his lips. 


End file.
